


Picnic for Two

by Chryselis



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Breastfeeding, Cock Warming, Established Relationship, Ferdinand feeds Hubert milk, Hand Feeding, Hints of age regression if you squint, Hubert feeds Ferdinand food, Lactation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Male Lactation, Married Sex, Old Married Couple, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:29:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21976636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chryselis/pseuds/Chryselis
Summary: Ferdinand and Hubert von Vestra-Aegir have for over two decades now celebrated, cultivated, and harvested their love and appreciation for each other by dedicating sacred moments to every occupation that brings them joy. One of their most treasured is the winter solstice, which they celebrate by enjoying a decadent meal together locked away from the world. They end it feasting gloriously on each other's bodies, as hungry, loving husbands are wont to do.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 10
Kudos: 88





	Picnic for Two

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by and dedicated to my fellow partner in crime and Chubbynand devotee [Bearz](https://twitter.com/free_bearz).
> 
> To better savor, partner with her beautiful [scrawny Hubert and chubby Ferdinand](https://twitter.com/free_bearz/status/1205679662594170884?s=20) art <3

Hubert and Ferdinand von Vestra-Aegir’s long and happy marriage has, two decades on from their union officiated by the great Flame Emperor herself, become somewhat of a revered institution among the ruling intelligentsia of the Adrestian empire. When asked, they will both tell you that while their relationship isn’t without its explosive spats, its success can be attributed to the constant hard work of the other spouse.

So, there you have it. The secret to a long and happy marriage is hard work, a habit long exercised by both these men through their devotion to duty, empire, and love. Out of the long list of excellent habits cultivated by these engineers and survivors of a revolutionary war, from strict expectations of efficiency, the monitoring of their time, to reading widely on all subjects relevant to the governance and emancipation of nations (or whatever habits one might assume persons of unrivaled achievement and dedication to practice), the ones that may surprise you the most are habits of celebration.

These two husbands are more than aware of each other’s worth, and have for many years now celebrated, cultivated, and harvested their love and appreciation for each other by dedicating sacred moments to every occupation that brings them joy. One of their most treasured is the celebration of the winter solstice, which began many moons ago on their first planned retreat together. The reality of their political commitments at the time a burden on their newlywed enthusiasm, they had decided to spend a day locked together in a room with enough food and water to see them through. The idea was a resounding success, and the date now marks a commitment almost as important as their first vows. An anniversary not just of promise, but also of practice and conscious attention from one lover and spouse to another. And lavish attention on each other they do, with a focus and determination difficult to rival:

“Are you quite comfortable, love? Do you find the fire still warm?”

Hubert’s worn and hushed voice barely makes it over the crackle coming from the hearth a few feet away. Ferdinand writhes and hums under him in approval as he lazily chews on a mouthful of roast pheasant, arching up off the nest of bear pelt and sheepskins keeping their naked bodies from the cold stone floor. Ferdinand’s half hard cock bobs up against Hubert’s stomach as he does so, before it rests back, caught against Ferdinand’s filled out curves, a sight that causes Hubert’s own almost-hardness to pulsate where it’s snugly sheathed inside his lover.

“No rush my dear,” Hubert reassures, fingers stroking through his husband’s ever long, honey-gold hair pooling out in a halo over mottled grey and cream woolen curls beneath them, “finish your bite first.”

“Mmn,” comes the answer. Ferdinand swallows the food then runs his tongue over his lips in a failed attempt to gather the berry sauce that trickled out of his reach and down his chin.

“Oh, deal with this mess will you darling? And yes, I’m quite warm still. Thank you for asking.”

The encouraging squeeze around his cock isn’t necessary for Hubert to comply, but he groans in appreciation nonetheless, the reminder of their intimacy a tease to them both. Neither of them is fully aroused, having become experts over the years in drawing out the other’s pleasure, savouring it the way they do the feast carefully arranged in dishes, pans, and bowls around them. 

Ferdinand’s stubble has grown more stubborn with age, always leaving a shadow of a beard long before the end of the day. The prickly drag of it against Hubert’s tongue while he laps up the trail of tart red berry coulis caught in it sends a tingle down his spine. Not yet satisfied, Hubert keeps planting kisses down his lover’s throat, resting a hand on one of Ferdinand’s generously full tits and squeezing it in return, to which Ferdinand lets out a ringing, buttery laugh.

“Hubert, you do spoil me so. What would I do without you to take care of me?”

“Find yourself another lover, I presume. One wholly unequipped to appreciate and satisfy you as I do,” Hubert answers between wet kisses pressed to Ferdinand’s neck.

Fingers tangled in his salt and pepper hair, coarse but still curled, give it a gentle tug in response, guiding his face back up so they can look each other in the eye. The warm smile on Ferdinand’s face is more of an answer than words could ever provide. They kiss tenderly for a few moments, lazy and without care, spit mingling with the taste of hearty game and rich gravy. It hangs between them by a thread when they break off before Ferdinand greedily claims it with a final peck, pushing Hubert away from him with a firm hand on his bony chest.

“Feed me some of that meat pie you love? With your hands. I want to taste them too.” 

“It would be my pleasure.”   
  
The pie is a mutual favourite, being one of the rare foods that Hubert does take joy in consuming. Thankful for his longer wiry frame in situations like this, he reaches over to the dish containing the pie and pulls it closer, careful not to lose his seat deep inside Ferdinand. While they used to be able to do this at full arousal, it takes a little more care now that neither of them can stay hard from just the promise of a future orgasm. Keeping his pelvis as close to Ferdinand as possible, Hubert pulls the other upright so that he’s straddling Hubert’s lap.

“Work with me, if you don’t mind.”

A familiar request, to which Ferdinand simply tilts his head and opens his mouth, letting out a soft moan as he hooks an arm around Hubert’s neck to hold himself up as required. Now he’s years into piling on a fair amount of comfortable weight, Ferdinand truly worries he may one day suffocate his ever emaciating, dashing ghoul of a husband during one of their trysts. Though, if there had to be a way for Hubert to go, he supposes that would be it. Mind unraveled and breath stolen by the wet warmth of Ferdinand’s arsehole or leaking tits. For now, Ferdinand is content to take the golden, scrumptious pastry that makes way for a flood of spice and smoked sausage meat as Hubert’s fingers spread it over his tongue, crumbling the food for him not to have to chew it. Oh, the indulgence of it sets him on fire, swallowing the food in small gulps as he draws long sucks of Hubert’s fingers to relieve them of their gift. Once there’s nothing left to feel on Ferdinand’s tongue, Hubert nudges his mouth open once more with a press of his thumb, holding it open for another serving. And another. Ferdinand writhes and moans against his husband, taking in the digits in deeper than really necessary after a few mouthfuls, hungry for more. Ever obliging, Hubert draws up another dish, holding up a spoon with a raised eyebrow and laughing loudly at Ferdinand’s pout. Never one to disappoint, Hubert scoops up some creamy mashed potatoes with two of his fingers to accompany the taste of the pie, which Ferdinand swirls in his mouth, tongue gliding between those skilled, scarred reminders of pleasure they’ve shared countless times over. 

They continue to feed each other like this, drinking in the heat of their bodies seasoned with the textures and flavours of comforting food, all washed down with the best of Adrestian wines. The latter they pass between kisses, lips tainted with the deep red of grapes pressed and matured to daze inducing alcohol, the oak of their original barrel supporting them still as a robust nutty aftertaste. Spills are inevitable, and Ferdinand rejoices in smudging a stain from Hubert’s bottom lip to his chin before kissing back up it. Complemented by the musk of Hubert’s sweat from the exertion of stubbornly holding his husband up against him, and the heady scent of Ferdinand’s floral scented hair and body oils, their feast leaves little room for any outside distractions or stimulation. For some time they share nothing but those taste and smells, until gravy from a later handful of pie drips over Ferdinand’s bare chest and Hubert dips to taste it. His mind has been slowly drifting, aided by the usual direction of his demanding husband’s whims, enough that his moans and whines flow freely now in time with the strokes of his tongue across Ferdinand’s broad chest, hands kneading into the supple flesh adorning the hips bearing down to warm Hubert’s hardening cock.

Ferdinand lets out a happy sigh, stroking soothing circles around the thinning hair at the crown of Hubert’s head when he hesitates to lick closer to a perk, heavy nipple. That skeleton frame of Hubert’s feels increasingly like it could easily get crushed between Ferdinand’s own powerful thighs, which he gladly reminds Hubert of, caging him tight between them as he asks:

“Getting hungry for something else, are we?”

Hubert looks up, adorably sheepish when caught off guard like this.

“Ah, perhaps. I did not feel myself slipping. Do you have room for dessert before we continue?”

“Why you bother asking at this point darling, I’ll never know,” 

“Of course you do,” Hubert gives Ferdinand’s ass a discontented tap, though it’s immediately followed by hands roaming over the expanse of that slightly tan, freckled back, “you know I love to hear you say it. Tell me what you want, husband of mine. So that I can earn my reward.”   


Ferdinand doesn’t miss that telltale dilation of Hubert’s pupils, the way his lids hang ready to close and give in, so he outlines the angled plane of those sharp cheekbones with a finger before tapping Hubert’s cheek twice in response, a signal they use to indicate a recognized change in the dynamic of their play.

“Sweetheart, you have more than earned it already. And besides,” Ferdinand wraps a hand gently around one of Hubert’s wrists, guiding him to cup the curve of his burdened left tit, “I think I’m about full to bursting. Relieve me, would you?”

“But Ferdie,” the nickname already a giveaway, Hubert after all this time still struggling to give in, “you haven’t even had sweet buns yet, and ah-”

A finger on Hubert’s lips stops him mid-thought.

“Shh, there’s a good boy. Come now.”

The silence is immediate, Ferdinand’s words unlocking a door that if it weren’t for him, Hubert likely would’ve kept concealed and barricaded forever. Humming a soft tune into the now pliant man’s ear, he cradles his husband’s bowed head and hooks a leg around his waist, guiding them both back down onto the pelts. It has taken them years to get to this point, where the needy whimper escaping the lips of a trembling Hubert is no longer a fear, but a sweet, kind release. It only requires a little more urging, and then, his rare darling will rest at Ferdinand’s breast once more:

“You’ve done so well. Utterly spoiled me with the decadent feast of my dreams. Kept your cock warm inside me like I asked,” a sloppy kiss to Hubert’s forehead, then Ferdinand is lying down and stretching luxuriously over the welcoming fur, not the slightest bothered by Hubert’s weight on his chest, “I think it’s only fair. Now, are you quite done with being petulant? If you are not hungry I shall tend to myself. Such fullness makes my breasts tender, you know.”

“I- I’m sorry.”

Oh, Ferdinand’s heart still breaks every time he’s graced by that sweet, angelic tone coating Hubert’s habitual sharpness with a vulnerability the man can never afford himself without help. Resting on Ferdinand’s chest like that, looking away from the guilt that only exists in his own mind… Hubert does take on a look reminiscent of a scared child, taught only to put others’ needs before his own. But there are no secrets between them, and Ferdinand simply would not have it, once he caught a glimpse of that deep, raw desire Hubert had to just… Take, and the person he needs to be to allow himself it. Smaller, freed from the burden of responsibility. Safe.

“Don’t be, dear,” coos Ferdinand, tilting Hubert’s chin up ever so slightly, “no need to apologize to me. Just let go now, no harm will come to you. You have my permission.”

With a violent shudder and a heavy exhale, whatever apprehension Hubert had about his husband’s invitation to nurse him is now gone. The fire loudly crackles behind them still, punctuating the moan of relief that leaves his lips and ghosts across a tuft of chest hair that Hubert happily burrows his face into.

“Ah, Ferdie… Your fat tits. I love them so.”   


It all quickly comes loose following the drop, Hubert’s words whined out like those of a child trying to get a parent’s attention, which he receives in the form of Ferdinand arching up into the rough, desperate grip where he sinks his fingers into one of the swollen tits that promise a feast of his own.

“I know darling, I know.”

When he looks up, all Hubert can think of is how the warmth of the flickering flames envelops his ever shining Ferdinand in a heavenly glow, which sets him alight with a primal need to consume everything he can of this unbelievable man, to thaw the emptiness in his belly that their food couldn’t come close to filling earlier. Sinking into the cushion of Ferdinand’s chest, one arm lazily draped over it to reach for his husband’s shoulder, Hubert takes a quickly hardening nipple between his lips and begins to suckle on it. Ferdinand’s body has become absolutely irresistible to him over the years; first graciously taking on the comfort of their post-war lifestyle over the still maintained bulk of a cavalier’s muscle, and now yielding a satisfaction that, with a little encouragement from a perhaps questionable book of spells, herbal teas, and medical advice normally reserved for woman-with-child, has turned Hubert’s adoration of his husband to religious devotion. 

Impatient though when the liquid doesn’t immediately flow, Hubert tugs a little with his teeth between sucks to stimulate the withholding teat, which soon releases the sweet, sweet milk his husband so generously allows him. Ferdinand chuckles softly above him and lets out a relieved moan of his own as he gives Hubert a rewarding pat, praising him like the good boy Hubert knows he is.

“Aren’t you a sweet boy? Mm, easy does it. There there. Pace yourself, there’s plenty. I was practically leaking on the way here, you know, I’ve been pumping myself between meetings to make sure you wouldn’t go without.”

A muffled moan is all Ferdinand receives in reply, not that he needs anything right now other than the rhythmic slurp and suck of wet lips drowning out the sound of the fireplace. Hubert has a tendency to dribble when the flow becomes steady, which Ferdinand reminds him of by tugging him up gently, wiping the milky trail from his chin up with his thumb and offering it back to Hubert, who takes the digit obediently into his mouth and whines over it.

“There we go. Now I know you’re hungry, but don’t go wasting my hard work now.”

“Mm’know,” then lips reluctantly drag off the thumb so that Hubert can properly use his words, “is just that you taste so good, Ferdie...”

Another helpful tilt to direct his hungry little darling towards the neglected breast, accompanied by a honey sweet reminder:

“Don’t forget this one. Or the other will get sore before you’re finished.”

The guilty kiss and spit slickened rub of lips on Ferdinand’s peaked, still leaking nipple serves in apology, before Hubert shifts to the other side of his chest, careful to keep his now rather hard cock still warm inside his husband’s arse as he does so. Ferdinand reclines fully now, happy he’s given Hubert the instruction and encouragement needed for him to forget himself enough to enjoy the experience to the fullest, eyes drifting closed with a contentment unlike any other, knowing he can feed his darling husband like this. It doesn’t leave Ferdinand unaffected either, but this arousal is steady, undemanding, simply content for the waves of pleasure spreading through his body starting from the release of milk from his tits. Occasionally Hubert’s stomach gives him some friction, or a thigh presses up snugly against his ballsack, and Ferdinand enjoys the light, heady buzz it brings him. The sight of Hubert simply gorging himself, latched onto Ferdinand’s still full breast and sucking, sucking so well and enthusiastically that the keening sounds caught in his throat are barely audible over the smack and slurp of his lips, oh - it’s one of the most beautiful things they’ve ever shared together.

And when Hubert starts to lose himself enough to fuck into him without thinking, well, Ferdinand loses his grip on reality a little in turn. Sheepskin damp with sweat beneath them, it catches under Ferdinand’s lower back and drags some dishes with it when he lifts his hips to hook his legs around Hubert’s shoulders, effectively locking him in place and allowing his hard, weeping cock to slide in deeper. Hubert snaps up and grabs Ferdinand’s legs in response, fingertips engulfed by the meat of his husband’s ample thighs as he spreads his legs wide to watch his cock get swallowed between those glorious, glorious ass-cheeks.

“Ah, Ferdie- need to… Mm!”

A clink of something on stone, a glass perhaps, bottle of wine even?

“I know, I know Hubie my sweet boy, you have me, please, have your fill!”

Something wet definitely, Ferdinand’s hand splashing in unfortunate liquid when he throws an arm out to reach for something to grab onto for leverage, finding only cold tiled floor where their now messy nest once lay flat and tidy.

“It feels good, my cock feels so good Ferdie, I’m so full from you, oh…!”

They’re both babbling now, yet of the two Hubert is the one totally besides himself, growing bolder with his demands, be it a violent snap of his hips, an uncaring hand roughly squeezing the remaining milk out of Ferdinand’s fast emptying tits, all while he fucks raggedly into the hole that has kept him warm all evening. Ferdinand can’t take it, the heavy sway of their bodies into each other, his chest smeared in spilt milk and his tits still wanting, his husband’s hands suddenly everywhere, gripping at every part of him, using his belly with one hand and gripping onto his hip with the other for support as Hubert slams his cock in, out, not enough, never enough but still so perfect-

“Oh Hubert, Hubert my little darling, you’re so good to me-!”

It’s the sudden clamp of Hubert’s mouth not just around the nipple, but most of his breast that does it, sending Ferdinand over the edge and making a mess on his stomach while Hubert cries out as they come in harmonious tandem.

The fire in the hearth is dwindling, its heat for the time being hardly missed.

Hubert collapses onto Ferdinand’s chest and whines, shallow thrusts helping him through his orgasm, which he draws out by lapping up the stickiness off Ferdinand’s chest. Then he simply settles, not showing any sign of getting up or pulling out, and hums as he apparently starts to drift off where he lies.

This year must be truly special for Hubert to not want to come back to his senses entirely straight after the fact. A groaned heave and a pained sigh later, Ferdinand has hoisted Hubert up into his arms, who mumbles a sleepy thank you as he wraps tired, shaking hands around the back of the much sturdier Ferdinand’s neck. The effort makes itself known in his muscles too before he makes it to the bedroom, and Ferdinand wonders if he can manage this tradition still for another decade at least as he lays his sleepy darling on a mound of clean, fresh smelling sheets prepared on their bed. It is exhausting indeed, to satisfy and look after your spouse so thoroughly, but it is work more rewarding than any other Ferdinand has had the pleasure of engaging in. Alas, all good things must come to an end, and before they can drift off to sleep tangled together in their bedchambers, a domestic must be let in to help salvage what is left of their mess. Hopefully, not all food is wasted, though it may also not be sanitary to share after what they did in its proximity… A cold trickle down his thigh distracts Ferdinand from his thoughts with a violent shudder. Ah yes, this part he is not always fond of, especially given that he aches far too much to bathe already. What a pair of dirty old men they make, Ferdinand thinks, a happy chuckle crossing his lips.

Perhaps he can at least grab one of their toys to plug up Hubert’s mess until morning. For now, that will do quite nicely.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this utter indulgence! I'm curious to hear what you think ehehe
> 
> As always you can find me screaming on [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/chryseliss)


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